


a drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts

by lydiamaartins



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Underage Drinking, Vomiting, just in case someone might be triggered, marauders are in their sixth year, remus is an angsty lil shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3594702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydiamaartins/pseuds/lydiamaartins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Rule # 12: Only three types of people tell the truth: kids, drunk people, and anyone who is pissed the fuck off.”<br/>— Richard Pryor</p>
            </blockquote>





	a drunken man's words are a sober man's thoughts

To say Remus is angry would be an understatement. The common room is a mess, mostly thanks to the remnants of food in many stages stinking up the area. The echoes of loud music and even louder voices continue to assault his senses as he attempts to return something, anything to order. Lily had, at one point, been helping him straighten up, but she had disappeared in a flash of dark hair and the glare of lights on glasses a few minutes back. The two of them were curled up in a far corner, giggling like children in love. That’s all any of us are, really, he realizes as he maneuvers around Marlene Hathaway and Adam McKinnon curled into each other’s embrace on the ground.

They’re all children in love, in love with each other, in love with the idea of love, in love with power, in love with life. They’re at the only stage where they understand it. Their lives are no longer defined by a fruitless childhood, but not yet controlled by the cruel reality of life outside the walls of Hogwarts castle. They know more about the secrets of life than anyone else, and they’re merely teenagers basking in the victory of a quidditch match, lying drunk atop one anothers’ bodies and causing a shitload of trouble for an abandoned head boy. It’s funny how the world does things like that.

Remus is pulling empty butterbeer bottles from the cracks of the couch when he feels a weight on his leg and long, skinny fingers wrapping around his ankle. Seconds later, he’s on the floor, a plethora of curses falling from his lips as he scrambles away from the scene of the attack, face flushed and wand at the ready. He doesn’t relax until he sees the face of his attacker, but then he sighs and mutters a quiet, “Goddamn you, Sirius Black.”

 

He puts his wand back into the inside pocket of his robe and crawls forward to face his, drunk off his ass, friend. Sirius grins, crawls out from underneath the overturned coach, and sits cross-legged in front of the fireplace. “Mooooooooony!” Sirius giggles, his eyes wide and unfocused. “Moony! We won! And I hit that cocky Ravenclaw chaser in the face!”

"You got a penalty for that, you know. You’re lucky you didn’t get a detention," Remus reprimands and runs his fingers through his hair.

Sirius shrugs. “Minnie loves me too much to give me a detention for quidditch.” He looks over at Remus and his face lights up. “Remus! You should be on the team too! You and Peter! This is a great idea! We could all do it together!”

"Sirius, you’re drunk. Your ideas are even more terrible when you’re drunk than usual. Remember last time you wanted me to play quidditch?" Remus arches his eyebrow and Sirius roars with laughter, lost in memory.

"You fell!"

Remus scoffs, his cheeks tinted pink as he rests his chin in his hands. “I distinctly remember it being a very rainy day, and I’m pretty sure you pushed me.”

“Bullshit.”

“Is that so?”

Sirius grins, and the fireplace illuminating his face gives him the look of a lion. “Why would I push you?”

Remus is astonished by the sincerity in his friend’s face and forgets, for a second, that he’s wasted. “Because you’re a bloody annoying git, that’s why.”

Sirius laughs a little too loudly and smiles a little too wide. “Well, yeah, but why would I push you if I love you?”

Remus freezes, his lips slightly apart and a scared expression in his eyes. He drops his gaze to his lap. “You-you what?” he purses his lips and furrows his eyebrows as he looks up.

Sirius falters for a second before saying, albeit quieter this time, “I love you.”

Remus swallows and closes his eyes. _He’s drunk. He’s drunk and saying shit. He doesn’t love you. He’s drunk and stupid and tired and you are not allowed to get your hopes up._ “Sirius…” he trails off, trying to find something to say, but he can’t. He can only see Sirius’s goofy smile as he recounts the unfortunate quidditch incident on the inside of his eyelids. So he blinks his eyes open and whispers, “uh…we should probably head up to the dormitory. Wouldn’t want to fall asleep down here on the floor.”

Sirius nods and stands up, but immediately goes five shades paler and slumps back over the coach. “Remus, I think ‘m gonna be sick,” he groans, fisting his hands in the upholstery.

Remus is at his side in seconds with soothing words in his ear and gentle hand on his back, easing him gently through his retching, and helps him sit up when he’s done, hands still ghosting over his shoulders. He sighs and murmurs, “Why do you all insist upon getting drunk?”

Sirius slowly lifts his head up and grins loopily at Remus. “Why do you insist on never getting drunk, Moony? Because you’re a buzzkill, that’s why.”

“Watch it, Padfoot. I’m the only thing keeping you from face-planting into your own vomit.” Remus takes Sirius’s arm and slings it over his own shoulder and loops his arm around Sirius’s waist. “Come on, let’s go to bed.”

Sirius sags slightly into Remus’s embrace lets his him lead him up to the boys dormitory. He shuffles his feet and nearly tips over several times, but Remus holds him upright. They don’t speak, but it’s a comfortable silence, broken only by the quiet sound of breathing and bare feet on carpet. They make it up the stairs and to the side of Sirius’s four-poster and Sirius collapses on his side on top of the duvet.

Remus groans and grabs Sirius by the shoulders. “You’ve got to get up. You can’t sleep on top of the comforter.”

Sirius turns to him and scowls, his lips in a pout. “Yes, I very well can. Go away.”

“No, you can’t.”

Sirius turns around so his back is facing Remus and huffs. Remus sighs and turns to the bed to his immediate left, pulls the duvet off, and turns back to drape it over Sirius, who makes a quiet noise of protest. “Whose—Remus what—”

“It’s James’s. I’m pretty sure he and Lily are going to spend the night on the couch, anyway.” Remus straightens the red bedclothes and walks to the other side of his friend, where his own bed is. Before he can even pull out his pajamas, however, there’s a hand weakly scrabbling at his arm.

“Remus.”

He turns around, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, and meets Sirius’s eyes.

“Thanks.”

He smiles, and whispers, “Anytime. Now, get some sleep, Padfoot.” He waits until Sirius flips his blanket back over himself before grabbing his pajamas and going to change.

When he comes back, he sees Sirius splayed out on his bed, the duvet draped loosely over his body and he’s struck with an overwhelming desire to kiss him on the forehead or tuck him in tighter or to just do something because _fuck. He said he loved him._ He grips the bedpost next to him and squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head violently and climbing into bed without even glancing at the boy next to him. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

He’s just drunk.

With that thought, Remus falls into a fitful sleep, half wishing to never wake up and half wishing for this night to never end.


End file.
